"Looks like Page Six of this party will read The World According To Thorpe!"
Maybe GG blogs all the time because she cut out her tongue in a fit of ill-advised late-'60s feminist rage? Foreshadowing for Serena's next car accident/blowjob massacre? Vanessa Abrams will forthwith be played by John Lithgow? It's a reference to how brothers and sisters are constantly fucking each other on this show? ("Looks like Lily just checked into the Hotel New Hamp-Shame!") I don't have any other explanation for why she just said that. To hack me off, I think.
"Looks like Rufus might have to start calling his wife Owin' Meany!"
Blair comes downstairs to interrupt her mother's nightly Cyrusless paper-and-tea ritual, still wearing her party gown, and she's contrite enough that Eleanor doesn't sound too bitchy when she asks if she's just there to twist the knife. Blair admits she was pretty awful today, and El tells her not to worry it overmuch. Bygones. Which is funny considering that what Eleanor said was absolutely repulsive, um way worse than what Blair even did:
"I don't care if you don't want to be like me, I welcome it. I'm glad we have nothing in common, because you are sickening. I can't believe you sprung from my loins, you monster. I wish they'd had the Morning After pill the day your gay dad stuck it in me, or I'd had the foresight and gumption to claw you from my womb myself. Eat some more carbs, ya little piggy. Why would I care how much you weigh? You're barely even my daughter, just another mercenary bitch piece of roadkill on the side of the highway I call life. My God, I wish that skinny Jenny Humphrey were my daughter."
Okay, okay. But this is what she says now, so I guess we're tacitly approving the horrible shit she said at the party because, you know, adults are always right.
"I've watched you struggling to find your path, and I guess I just hoped that you would want to follow mine. But like, any self-respecting daughter of an egocentric mother would be repelled by the thought of being anything like her."
Valid, and a great way to sum up the entire episode, but then it's sweet because B makes her mom blush and laugh by telling her she is brilliant, and resilient, and a businesswoman and an artist, and that it would be crazy not to be her. Eleanor's touched, but points out that Blair's not a designer. (Dooms and plots and elaborate insane scenarios, yes; clothes, no.) She tries to think of the perfect phrase, the mot juste, the essential gold that only a true poet laureate could produce, and B fills in the blanks: "A dictator of taste."